Young God
by Mhhmmmmm
Summary: They smile with the appreciation of each other's talent, but with no attachment for each other, only for the victory. OC/Oikawa


Thirty two days into volleyball season. That was how she remembered time; how long until the seasons starts, how long until it ends and how long of it left?

Winter were the days where she didn't really need to go running, the cold air cooled her head. Spring and fall were the days of colds and shitty, shitty mud and water and sickness and exams – everything that distracted her from joy. Summer were the golden days, where anything and everywhere could be a practice ground, where rain was the perfect companion to victory or loss, where the ball would get sticky from the sweat of her hands, and the tape on her fingers would have to be replaced every fifteen minutes because of the sweat.

It was somewhere between the golden season and the cold that they had first met – during middle school. He had dropped by the all day tournament to see how much of a stir could he make with his naturally beautiful complexion and prepubescent hormones of would-be teenage girls. He was right, with a pair of dashing eyes, a crooked grin and the emptiness of some of the girls' hearts, he was hooked. He was hooked onto the mesmerizing feeling of unquestionable adoration – even with physical appearance as the only basis. He was hooked on the validation of his existence, and the idea of his talent, his ability to be unquestionably beautiful.

For a moment, he was almost distracted from the arrival of a dark hair boy with sharp blue eyes at his school team. For a moment, he was almost distracted from the hollowing pain of a loss to his rival again. And suddenly, the moment was just a moment; fleeting and never long enough – Oikawa remembered the taste of defeat; metallic from his blood, nauseating from swallowing his barf, and bitter sweet from the god damned honey soaked lemon of a fucking fan girl. His face had contorted into an ugliness beyond the surface of his beauty. He face had fallen into a hateful scowl, and the voice said, _that boy, he can win where you have lost. He will replace you_ –

"Oikawa-sama?" A pretty girl with no redeeming qualities beyond her ability to make people feel so damn special – a quality which will get her far in life, a quality that was too familiar to Oikawa for him to appreciate it, had murmured into his shoulder.

His face twisted into a smile, the way they liked it; a little crooked with a dash of charm. "I'm watching the game, Ayane-chan." He turned away as her face flushed into a familiar red, he was validated once more.

Naïve to what he would become with volleyball, he watched with a bored fascination with the opposite gender and the desire to improve. Hazel eyes found themselves captivated by the gravity of her intensity. The world stood still as she played and he found himself lean forward in his seat, his fingers clammy from the desire to touch the ball and he readied himself for the disappointment of her misses – yet, she didn't. She was a setter, Oikawa could feel a familiar train of thought enter his head and his head calmed, as if he was in the game, as if he could feel the thrum of the victory in his hands just as it is in hers – the setter stepped back and took the first hit, a wobbly set was returned and rivaling the intensity of his love for volleyball, she slammed it back down.

He had been breathing deeply, a thrum of excitement ran through him and he stood, away from the easy validation of the girls around him. And with the short haired girl with big framed glasses in mind, he walked towards the only validation he knew that could salvage his sanity. One that he could never truly get, he felt.

Comfort rested on his shoulder, and it was in the form of Iwaizumi's tanned arm.

It was during the golden season that they really got to know of each other. He was the golden boy, shrouded in the admiration of both genders, and decorated with the bright gleam of trophies, medals and praise. She was the ruthless dominator, who reveled in the fear of her opponents and bathed in the shadows of her victories. They said she's never lost a point at the net, never let a spike through, and never let her own spikes blocked. They said that his talent is prodigious, that he's only started volleyball a year or so before, that he will take the team to victory. That she will be the victory.

It was yearbook that made the duo acknowledge each other, both prideful and naïve to the realities of true loss. Oikawa had grinned and turned to let his dimples flash adoringly, his eyes studied the girl. Familiar and foreign at the same time. Her hair had grown long, and gone were the glasses. Left were light amber eyes, a cross between almonds and marbles. He was taller than her now, in his last year of middle school. This would be the last time they see each other before they fall in love, and she says nothing, he says nothing.

They smile with the appreciation of each other's talent, but with no attachment for each other, only for the victory.

The time they fell in love was in his first year of high school, somewhere between the freedom of escaping the looming fear of replacement by that wretched Tobio and the complete loss against his ultimate enemy – _twenty five to seven, Shiratorizawa._ She was visiting high schools alone in bid to control her life and he was self – harming in the only way he knew how.

It was a familiar sight when she watched him slave over his own inability in a desperate attempt to make up for his lack of innate genius. He was practicing his jump serve against the wall. Three steps back, a nice clean toss, and his hand should perfectly cup the ball to the wall as he slams it forward – at the sweet spot. His hand was raw, the ball was long gone and he was just slamming the wall now.

"Feels great, doesn't it." She murmured, the sound echoed and Oikawa whipped around. His face set into a customary crooked grin – a little charm, and a little teeth. "Stop, you look ugly like that." She walked forward, picking up the volleyball, "You okay? You can cry you know, I heard about the loss."

Oikawa turned back to the wall, unsure how to express his face. "You should have more respect for your elders, Mura-san."

"The senpai-kouhai system prevents any real closeness between people by enforcing a rigid regime of respect and detachment to each other under false pretenses of respect." She stated a matter-of-factly, "I don't respect you as a senpai, Oikawa-san, I respect you as a person. And you can't really open up to a kouhai either, you can open up to a friend."

He chuckled involuntarily, "We're not friends, Mura-san."

She shrugged, laying herself onto the ground, her hand volley the ball rhythmically. The sound is alluring to Oikawa, her voice spoke calmly, "Forget about what we are, how are you?"

He wondered how long has it been since someone has asked him that with genuine curiosity, or was it apathy? He wasn't sure, but it wasn't familiar. "I'd like to practice alone, Mura-san."

The volleying stopped. "Practice or punish?"

Oikawa dropped the volleyball; he turned around, momentarily forgetting to hide his genuine expression. She was not looking at him, relief or disappointment rushed for a second. He slid himself down the wall to sit. He sighed. "How is, uh –"

"- he's not doing as well as you did in your second year."

This meant nothing to him then. Her words will bring him back from the brink months later, and he will fall in love with it.

"We've never actually introduced ourselves, Oikawa-san." She sat upright suddenly; he then sees that she had changed. Eyes full of determination and short cropped reddish hair that frames her face, she smiled at him with eyes that are full of smoke. He has always liked a mystery, and he wondered if she was exactly like him.

"It seems not, Mura-chan." He murmured.

She had brushed off her leggings and stood before him with a hand outstretched. "My name is Mura Tokyo. Call me Kyo." She nodded her head in mock respect, "Please take care of me."

His mouth moved to smile involuntarily, "My name is Oikawa Toru. Call me oni-chan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kyo-chan."

She laughed loudly, it took up the entire gym. The sound startled him, he flushed and found his hand taken in a firm grip. "It's a pleasure, oni-chan."

His heart skipped a beat.

Three months later, twelve volleyball games between the two, and a shaky text to hang out when he had lost to Shiratorizawa again; at her middle school graduation, he asked her out.

It was awkward, and he stuttered, caught himself and simply stated with the charm that he knew she could see through, "I like you."

She only smirked, and said owlishly the way that she does, "You do? Ah."

"Kyo," his eyes dropped a hue, and as did his voice, "will you go out with me?"

Tokyo Mura stared at the boy she has been with for over three months, and she readied herself for the heartbreak, and the love and the drama and the idea of saving this boy from himself. She smiled calmly, her eyes had spied her parents making a move. Her fingers moved to fix the boy's crooked tie, and grinned with the joy she felt in her bones.

"Yes."

It began without a change. She had chosen to go to Aoba Josai – not because of him, she had insisted, they had offered her a scholarship. But he knew that he was the reason, because Shiratorizawa had offered her a bigger one. It had begun with holding hands, a more intimate touch during volleyball, an excuseless visit to her house, to hang out.

It began to feel like love.

But she hung out with too many boys that had a crush on her, he knew, boys talked. But he didn't know how to stop the girls from flocking to him. He didn't know how to not charm others, she knew, girls talked.

But she was distant. Intimate, intense, loving for a period; then unresponsive for the next. He had admired her spontaneity, her ability to always be there to always love him when he needed it most. But when he didn't need it most, it didn't mean he didn't need it.

But he has a façade. Hard, bitter, and raw beneath; sweet, smooth and charming on top. She had enjoyed being on the bottom end, but found herself brushed aside and dealt with by the charmer. She needed him to be him, but it was almost never the him that she fell in love with.

School work was getting tough, they had not won against Shiratorizawa yet. The girls' team had come home champions again. A bitter feeling of envy rose in his throat at the sight sometimes, his own selfishness danced in the bottom of his stomach.

She wasn't happy. Stifled by life, she withdrew from those around her, silence became a friend, but it still did not quench her words. She was good at hurting people, words were her knives, and she could cut you up without another thought – she's gotten so good she doesn't even know it half the time.

He didn't see her suffering. She knew that.

She cut herself for the first time – a combination of bored, sadness, loneliness and inability to control her life. On one end of the phone, she cried silently to give herself the courage to tell the boy she had loved, on the other, he sat listening to a muffled cry and didn't realize the gravity of the situation. She didn't tell him in the end, he had left for practice.

It was thirty two days until the end of volleyball season that they broke up. She stood outside, her gaze once confidant only wavered as they looked into a familiar hazel embrace. "We should take some time apart. I need some time alone to sort myself out."

He said nothing, only to run his hand through his sweaty hair – he only knew it was sweaty because his neck felt sticky, his hand was so taped up he couldn't even feel the hair between his fingers. "What about me?"

Kyo decided to give the only lesson she will knowingly teach him, "It's not always about you, Toru."

He stared after her, and jumped at the hand on his shoulder. Iwaizumi's hand was heavy and foreign, Oikawa felt like life was falling apart.

He laughed cruelly, a smile was plastered on and he shook his hand off. He stepped into the gym with bitterness, hurt, pain and everything he had forbidden himself to feel from reasons other than himself. His hands gripped the volleyball, against the background of girlish cheers, he served.

The ball flew straight and true, nailing a boy's face hard. He slammed to the ground in a loud thud and the ball ricocheted towards the net harshly. The gym was silent, it was a period of silence before Oikawa could summon the energy to plead for forgiveness. Before he could gather his mask over the brokenness beneath it.

"I'm so sorry! Natsu-san, I didn't see you – someone get the coach! We will take you to the office, I think you have a concussion – I'm _so_ sorry." Someone clamped a hand over his shoulder, an unfamiliar one.

"What was that, Oikawa?" The coach was a thin calculating man, sometimes you could tell he loved volleyball, other times, it was like taking candy from a stingy old man – he hated them.

"I – I'm sorry sir – Iwaizumi," his voice grabbing his friend as he passed by, "go take Natsu-san to the infirmary, I'll bring his things over right after." Oikawa turned back towards the coach, he squared his shoulders and stared forward with the hardness that was never shown, "I'm sorry coach, I will formally apologize to Natsu-san when we make sure he is okay. I wasn't thinking correctly and it will never happen again."

There was silence as Oikawa bowed stiffly, only a hand shoved him up, and he was met with a gruff warmth of the man that had hand recruited him. "Oikawa, what happened?"

"My girlfriend broke up with me, sir." He couldn't keep the dramatic whine, and sadness away. At least the façade stayed.

The man sympathized with the experience of a 40 year old single man, "With Mura Tokyo?"

He nodded, his heart felt nothing and he supposed that was worse.

"Then I'm happy to give you some good news today, Oikawa. You are now captain of the team – actually, the first second year captain we've ever had. But from your dedication, leadership abilities and sheer talent, the administration and third years have agreed that you are the best choice. Congratulations."

The club now was silent, they looked at each other, wondering what had happened to their third year captain. The third years' grim faces stared towards the ground as they bowed to their underclassman, others followed. "Please take care of us." They echoed.

"Please take care of me." Oikawa bowed lowly. Wondering why there was a hole in his chest, wondering why he did not feel joy. And wondering whether he will break this club too – like he broke her.

The idea of him as a single man didn't get around until three days later, when people realized that it was not just a passing argument – there shouldn't have been doubt because they didn't have public arguments.

They watched each other from the corner of each other's eyes. If she had a best friend, then they would know that their relationship was not really meant for joy after all. It was meant to mean something. Oikawa watched her flirt with her friends, his friends and the teams she had dashed around with and between. He seethed at his team for saying hello, he hated himself for seeing her so happy without him, he remained sensitively tuned to her name and yet, they did not speak to each other.

Tokyo remained as self harmful as he is. She remembered every bit of him to bring her pain, to bring in life. She watched him flirt, tease and joke with his fans. Go on dates and date while she laid in the comfort of her shadows and her friends. She envisioned his anger at her victories, so she got more. She envisioned his pride at her triumphs, so she got more.

She soared into an addiction to the man that was not there anymore. He fell into a craving of her that only consisted of memories.

She left for America after the volleyball season finished during his second year, she was to finish high school there and complete internationally.

Oikawa found out through his best friend, the coldness he felt that had washed his bones was returned to Iwaizumi in the form of a particularly harsh spike downwards. The boy said nothing to the selfish, selfish boy. Because that's what brotherhood was for.

Half a year later, things seem to crash down at him again. Oikawa still hasn't won against Shiratorizawa yet, his little Tobio-chan is almost in high school, and his last girlfriend had broken up with him. She was a quiet, loving girl that had a penchant for hearing the wrong things about the right people. She might have loved him with the adoration of a child to a first pet, but she didn't love him, not the type that he had wanted. But in truth, Oikawa had lost his chance to get what he wanted half a year ago.

His ankle throbbed, and he swallowed his feelings down again. His head calmed, the sound of the air conditioning of the gym was more familiar than his bed. The huffs of his team around him felt like the beat of his heart. He limped towards the bench, the coach smiled at him with a crooked pride and Oikawa nodded. He raised a hand upwards towards the stands, his brother and parents gaze on – they don't see him. His nephew watched with adoration and shout excitedly.

How innocence feels, he had wondered.

How innocence feels, she wondered. Halfway across the world, she looks about the children running around the court. She felt old at only sixteen. Her team was warming up, she is not doing well. Her setting was not up to par, her fingers were so taped they felt stiff, but in reality it was only her nerves.

Sometimes she liked to forget herself, and drink cheap beer with her team. She likes to stumble through her illusions with images of her ex in her eyes and kiss sweet, sweet Americans. Sometimes, she sits in the shower and claw at her head. She wonders why she can't be happy, why she can't.

She can't be better, be good enough, be smart enough, be happy enough. She wonders if she'll ever be happy. What is happy? Sometime that the more she chases, the less she'll find, she thinks.

Kyo slapped the boy's wandering hand away. Her lips crumple, and her heart hurts. She misses him. She misses her happy. Tokyo tossed the drink into the garbage and leaves the party, she is only sixteen, there is a lifetime to party, but she has nothing.

She feels nothing.

Kyo found herself at the beach volleyball court. She found herself attempting the fathom the idea of another volleyball season in her mind. The indoor season is about to end, and the international beach volleyball is about to begin.

She flipped open a phone, a little tipsy, but dialed the only number her heart knows. Fuck international calls, she thought. Her stomach twisted, and she doubled over. Acid and regret wash over her mouth. His cool voice answers again, "Moshi moshi?"

He never seems to know when something's wrong. Kyo smiles bitterly to herself, she swallowed the pain and knew that this was exactly what she needed to hurt herself the way she liked to. "Toru, its me."

"Tokyo?" she heard shuffling, the familiar sound of volleyballs and boys' calling out. Then silence, he must have left morning practice. He paused, "Why did you call?"

She paused, "Lets compete in the international summer beach volleyball together."

Silence.

"Mur – Kyo." He sighed, "American volleyball seasons are in a different time than Japanese seasons. You know that."

He was right. She did.

"Oh." She said nothing more. Her finger felt the smooth button of the end call button. "Right, s -" she _will not_ be sorry for the way she is, " thank you. Have a good prac –" _tice, don't hurt yourself, Toru._

"Tokyo – wait," he cursed himself for cutting her off. An unfamiliar rush shot through him, his fingertips thrummed. "Are you coming back anytime soon?"

Kyo stared into the darkness. She reeked of alcohol, sweat and sadness. Her hand was limp on her phone, and she knew that every second was another dollar in long distance fees and another tear she will shed later. As a responsible young girl, she revels in her rebellion against responsibility of the world for the sake of her own needs. "I'm not sure. Do you want me to?"

Daring.

Oikawa felt his lips pull upwards involuntarily. Something that's stopped happening since half a year ago. Another heaviness land on his chest, he gripped his phone and said, "That's not a fair question."

"I'm not a fair person."

"I know that best."

"Life is not fair."

"You're not life."

"I was yours." She paused, "And you were mine."

He said nothing. The silence holds them hostage at the crossroads of their love. No longer prepubescent, nor naïve to the cruelty in loss or life.

"I'm going to go –"She started.

"- I have to go." He ends.

Their joined voices startled the two. The wind blows into Tokyo's hair, the scent of the sea is refreshing. A calmness she hasn't felt off court in a while entered her. Across the world, the early morning wind catches him vulnerable. Oikawa shivers and it leaves him warm down to his bones.

They both smile unknowing to the other, and hang up wordlessly.

Because sometimes a silence could say much more.

They have three calls in the next year. One during Christmas, the phone was gripped in his hand tight and his fingers dialed the only numbers that he ever felt important – his math teacher knows best. The call lasts thirty two minutes. Half of which were the silences that he never stopped loving, and the other half witty banter that he had never stopped missing.

Two during his first time getting drunk on sake, it was during the end of summer and he had realized that it will be a year before he becomes a university student. Oikawa hates his charm, he hates his face and he hates his team – for being so god damn perfect for him. For him to be good enough not to hurt himself – he missed the thrill, and missed a lot of things so he had ripped the phone from the wall of some kid and called her. The call lasted thirteen minutes, and it took place in the bathroom of a random boy's home and her bedroom.

The third call was a voicemail that he never got to check. It was during school, and sometimes he wondered if it will change his life as she did, but he would never admit it. Maybe he would, if it hurt more.

It has been a year and a half.

Exactly one and three weeks of volleyball seasons from when he first saw her.

Things began to change.


End file.
